Scott Radley: Gratitude on Father’s Day for a man who loved his kids more than himself

Dad died last week.

It feels incredibly strange to type those words. It also means that instead of thinking of what to write in his Father's Day card the past few days, I've been thinking about him and about fatherhood in general. Contemplating life lessons and big-picture stuff.

There's a lot to think about. Ron Radley was a remarkable guy.

Some of his successes were obvious. He was brilliant and wise and carved out a remarkable legal career. He was happily married to the same woman for 62 years. His social life was enviable. Everyone was his friend from his university buddies to the barista at Starbucks.

With all that, he could've taken life easy. Instead he spent his time volunteering and helping other people. Not just in little ways either.

After watching a news report about the devastation taking place in Ethiopia during the horrendous famine of the mid-'80s, he quietly booked his six weeks of vacation, paid his own way and worked in the feeding centres. At the time they were the absolute epicentre of hell. It was horrendous. The suffering was suffocating. But someone had to help, he decided. To his then-teenaged son, it was heroic.

Later he spent his weekends learning how to use heavy equipment to drill for wells so he could go back to Africa and work to find water for thirsty communities. Then in his retirement, he'd go with mom to a small Mexican fishing village in the winter and teach English.

There are plenty more examples but you get the idea. Given a choice between looking out for No. 1 or treating others better than himself, he invariably chose the latter.

But it was as a dad that he shone brightest.

He didn't have much of an example to follow. His own dad didn't stick around. Yet rather than repeat history, he committed to blazing a different trail.

Never an athlete himself - never really all that much into sports - he became interested when he learned his son was. Ludicrously early morning hockey practices on the other side of town? No problem, he was ready to drive. High school basketball games? He'd get to work before sun-up so he could skip out to watch. Never missed a single home game. His boy liked tennis? He learned how to play so they could do it together.

It wasn't just sports. When he realized his son was terrible at math, he spent hours teaching. When the weather was ugly, he'd help with the early morning paper route. The scream of terror he emitted from the passenger seat during one nearly disastrous merge onto the highway in a pre-licence driving practice might've touched high C. But he was right back in the car the next day.

It was the same for my sister. Michael Jackson wasn't on his regular playlist. Not close. Yet when the Victory Tour rolled into Toronto, he somehow got a pair of tickets. Then hilariously went to the concert with her.

Even as the years rolled by and we built families of our own, his interest in us never wavered. Until recently, my email would ding early every morning with a note from him telling me how great that day's column was, whether it really was or not. Then each evening he'd call into my radio show on 900CHML to answer the quiz question, almost always getting it right.

No matter how far both of us travelled from our youth, he was still Dad.

Truth is, you don't think of all this stuff every day when it's happening. But you sure do spend a lot of time contemplating it once it's over. And in doing so, you understand - really understand - what a profound impact a great dad has on his kids. And they on him.

Not to be a downer, but that makes me sad for those men who've chosen not to be a part of their kids' lives. Those who've decided to take a pass won't know what they've missed until it's too late. That's sad for their kids, too.

But it also fills me with gratitude - especially on Father's Day - that I was one of the truly fortunate ones who had a dad who loved his kids more than himself, always had time for us no matter what was on his schedule, modelled integrity, never dismissed a concern or ignored a request for advice, was always happy to talk, demonstrated true faith, was preposterously generous and was never shy about giving a hug.

On the last day he was able to speak, I leaned in to tell him I loved him. The final words he ever said back to me were just a whisper.

I love you, too," he said. I'm proud of you."

He wanted to make sure I never forgot.

I wish everyone could have a dad like that.

Scott Radley is a Hamilton-based columnist at The Spectator. Reach him via email: sradley@thespec.com